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Crooks: A Narrative Fiction

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The grumbling started to turn into roars, which queued Mary to tell her friends that they had to go home cause she couldn’t play anymore. Mary was such a smart girl. Nine maybe ten years old, and she already had such a deep understanding of what her parents situation was like. I could tell she was trying to compose herself by acting like their fighting didn't phase her. She wasn't sitting by the bottom of the stairs listening like she normally does, but instead she stayed outside where her friends and her were playing. There was a small crook in their basement that gave me a great vantage point for keeping an eye on her while she was indoors. I remember one time when she was lying there watching TV. Like always she looked so lovely and delicate.

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